


Find the One Who Wins Your Heart and Keep Them Close

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Rule Over Humans, Beta Derek Hale, Blood and Gore, Derek's Past, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Human Trafficking, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Servant, Master/Slave, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Scenting, Sharing a Bed, Slavery, Slavery of Humans by Werewolves as the Social Norm, Slow Burn, Soulmates, slave!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8216459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Werewolves were once thought to be creatures of myth, only ever heard of in fairy tales or stories that were designed to make children fear the woods.But we were wrong.Werewolves are now the dominant species and humans are submissive beneath their power.
Derek Hale, the son of the infamous alpha and next in line to inherit his mother’s power, has come of age to choose a mate. He has been denying it for many years, but his family’s patience is growing thin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as the one with a title as long as a Fall Out Boy song.
> 
> This was inspired by this Tumblr post:  
> http://bilesandthesourwolf.tumblr.com/post/141112145460/bilesandthesourwolf-imthekeptainnow-i-can

Werewolves were once thought to be creatures of myth, only ever heard of in fairy tales or stories that were designed to make children fear the woods.

But we were wrong.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

Derek stared at the ground, tapping his fingers against the table top – bored out of his mind – as he waited for time to pass faster and for Peter to leave him alone.

Being twenty-two years old, the son of the most powerful alpha in Beacon Hills and heir to the Hale family power, it was expected of him to choose his human slave. Usually, they would choose their slave at eighteen, but Talia gave Derek some leeway after the trauma he suffered at the hands of Kate and Jennifer. However, her impatience grew by the day and no matter how many times Derek explained his distaste for the idea of enslaving humans – something Laura stood by as well – Peter and Derek’s mother insisted that following tradition would make his life easier.

Peter had begged Talia for the ‘honour’ of taking Derek to the high school where he was to be presented with the ‘best’ humans they have to offer, but really Peter just wanted to make sure that Derek didn’t come home without one.

Derek wished he hadn’t, because the beta wouldn’t stop making unwelcome suggestions about how Derek could humiliate the human for entertainment, vent his frustrations on them, or abuse them as a sex slave, because – by his reasoning – there’s ‘nothing they can do’. The thought of such cruelty made Derek sick, and if Peter hadn’t shut up when he did, Derek might have been tempted to slit his throat and save any and all humans that were unfortunate enough to be his. Peter’s enthusiasm when he suggested such abuse made Derek worry all the more for his slave, Lydia. But he knew Lydia would never stand for it; she was strong-willed, resilient and defiant. She flaunted a strange sense of power that no one expected a human to have, one that Peter found alluring and Derek admired.

“I don’t want a slave,” Derek grumbled.

“Not all of them are like Kate,” Peter replied, his intense eyes were focused on the road as he drove across town towards the high school.

“It’s not that,” Derek huffed, irritated by the mention of the human who had abused him for moths: chaining him to a wall, feeding wolfsbane into his veins via an IV to weaken him, electrocuting him and molesting him when he was in a drugged out state. He knew that most slaves weren’t like that, but he still feared the chance that he might find another human who would do the same. He hadn’t had the best run with relationships, after all.

“It’s that overdeveloped sense of morality, compassion, and – ironically – humanity of yours,” Peter remarked. “The same as your sister. You think that it’s wrong to enslave humans.”

“It is,” Derek argued. “How would you feel if it were the other way around? If we were enslaved by humans.”

“That would never happen,” Peter replied, snorting as if Derek had told him a joke. “We’re strong and humans are weak. By the laws of nature and evolution, we will always dominate them.”

Derek bit back his words. He wanted to argue the point of how weak Kate had made him. How, despite their apex evolution, a human had dominated and abused a werewolf. He wanted to remind his uncle that even with all their abilities, humans only needed wolfsbane, mistletoe, or mountain ash to bring them to their knees. Or, in Derek’s case, a pair of inescapable, gorgeous eyes.

He wanted to speak up and argue. He wanted to open up old wounds and make his uncle regret every single one of his words, but he didn’t want Peter to think this was about Kate.

It wasn’t.

Derek was a lot like his sister. Laura didn’t want a slave. And like Laura, he wanted to believe in interracial peace and equality. Like his sister, he wished he had enough money to buy all slaves and set them free, to stop the black market smuggling and sales of humans, to topple the government legislations that were clearly an abhorrent neglect of the most basic human rights, and to punish those who abused their power: neglecting, terrifying, abusing, harming and sometimes killing their slaves.

And so it came to pass that Derek was reluctantly seated in one of the classrooms of Beacon Hills High, pretending to listen to the dull conversations of the adults and the introductions of the teenagers he had no interest in enslaving.

Derek let out a defeated sigh. He knew he had to take one of the home. If he didn’t, Peter would choose for him, and that wouldn’t end well. At all.

He couldn’t have been more relieved when the scrawny little boy toppled through the door and interrupted the proceedings.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

“This isn’t right,” Stiles growled. “It’s just not right.”

“It is how it is,” Scott muttered, his voice weak as he resided in his defeat.

They stared at the printed list of names that was pinned to the cork board, their eyes were glued on the fine black lettering that spelt out Scott’s name.

He had been chosen as a candidate to be presented to the werewolf betas. The ‘Offerings for Selection’, as the school called it.

“No,” Stiles argued. “It’s all wrong. Firstly, we are not ‘Offerings for Selection’ – like the stupid notice says we are – we’re the sacrifices for slavery because people are too scared to stand up to the werewolves because the human race cowers before fangs and glowing eyes. I mean, a little mistletoe, wolfsbane and mountain ash collars and we would be the dominant race.”

Scott looked at him, his dark eyes wide with shock.

“Hey.” Stiles gently nudged Scott’s shoulder. “You know I’d never put a collar on you,” Stiles promised.

Scott smirked.

“But I’d sure love to wrap some mistletoe around a stick of wolfsbane, dip it in mountain ash and shove it up Peter Hale’s a-”

“Stiles,” Scott rasped, his weak voice silencing the boy before he could finish his statement. He sighed, hanging his head as he admitted, “Dude, I’m terrified.”

“Scott, tell them you were bitten,” Stiles instructed, his voice soft and comforting. “Tell them you’re a beta. They can’t enslave you if you’re a werewolf.”

“If I say I was bitten, then they’ll ask who my alpha is, and I don’t know who bit me,” Scott reminded him.

“Then show them your eyes,” Stiles suggested. “You can’t fake that. Think about it: if you’re recognised as a beta then you can pick a human, you can choose Allison or Isaac and get the hell out of here. You’ll be safe.”

“But I’d have to pick, and I don’t want that,” Scott cried. He sighed. “At least you’ll be safe. I mean, with your ADHD, paranoia and other ‘unlikable’ personality traits, you’ll never be selected for offering.”

“Lydia wasn’t meant to be up for offer,” Stiles reminded him solemnly.

Scott froze.

“Her stubborn nature and ‘flirtatious tendencies’ were meant to excuse her from the listing, but that sleazy Hale beta took her,” Stiles finished, looking across the hallway at the trophy cabinet where there were photos of her winning mathematics awards, passionately debating in contests and standing proud atop a stage when she was announced as prom queen.

Scott bowed his head. He swallow hard, stomach churning with anxiety and guilt. The older boy inhaled deeply, raised his head and straightened his back. He swung an arm around his friend’s slender shoulders.

“Come on,” Scott encouraged. “Walk me to the room.”

“Okay, but I’m not going to say goodbye.”

Scott pouted.

“I won’t say it because I refuse to believe you’re leaving,” Stiles explained.

Scott pulled the boy into a half hug. “Okay, I’ll take that.”

They wove their way through the crowded hallway towards the classroom. Four or five other students – both boys and girls – waited outside the door.

They stayed there for a few minuted before the teacher stepped out of the room and shuffled in the candidates.

“Stiles,” Scott muttered.

“Don’t say goodbye,” Stiles warned him. “You’re coming out of this.”

Scott nodded.

Stiles wanted to say something else to lift the boy’s hopes, but the dwindling light in his friend’s eyes made it clear that Scott had given up all hope of leaving that room.

Stiles sighed, bowing his head as he waited outside the door. He waited as patiently as he could, hoping his best friend would not be selected as the werewolf’s play-thing.

Maybe the beta would smell his wolfiness and leave him be. Maybe the beta would acknowledge Scott’s werewolf status and give him his rightful power.

Rumours had spread through the school halls that it was yet another member of the Hale pack. And the overall contusion was that it was a man, which left Peter – the seedy creep that took Lydia – or the alpha’s son; the beta who had been abused by two humans in the past and most likely resented their entire race.

Stiles prayed that it wasn’t the latter. He prayed that it was a ‘forgive and forget’ incident. But, if by chance it wasn’t, he hoped that the beta would choose a female, as it seemed to be his preference. At the same time, he hoped the beta would refuse the selected and simply leave.

Hot tears brewed in his eyes as his stomach twisted with anxiety, knotting nauseatingly.

What if he lost Scott? He couldn’t lose the last friend he had. He couldn’t be alone.

He leant back against the door, and immediately regretted it.

The door slid off the latch and he lost his balance.

He toppled backwards, flailing about as he collapsed to the ground.

He stumbled about as she scrambled to his feet, a mess of frail limbs that tripped over themselves as he tried to correct himself. His eyes were wide with fear as he looked about the room.

“Um, s-sorry,” Stiles stammered. His hands trembled as he bowed apologetically and turned to leave. “I – uh – I didn’t mean to interrupt. I-I’ll just… I’ll just go.”

“Wait,” a firm voice called.

Stiles froze in the doorway. His heart pounded against his chest. His lips trembled as the sweet relief of breath escaped him, his lungs burning for air.

“Turn around,” the husky voice instructed.

Stiles obeyed.

He felt faint, ready to collapse to the ground again.

His hands shook violently. His heart pounded against his ribs, threatening to splinter the bones. His breath was thin and rugged, offering no relief to the searing pain of his breathlessness. Tears prickled at his eyes, streaking the light that bled through the windows.

Derek Hale, the abused prodigal son, met his gaze. His shimmering aventurine eyes rolled over the boy, only briefly before returning to meet the boy’s terrified gaze.

Derek’s lips moved, forming one word that made Stiles’ blood run cold.

“Him.”

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

“Him,” Derek announced, pointing towards the unexpected teen.

The boy stared at him with wide, glittering amber eyes. His lips trembled as he pointed at himself.

“Me?” he rasped.

The boy spun his head about, looking from Derek, to the other students, to the headmaster.

“Uh, Mr Hale,” the headmaster interjected, stammering as he frantically thought of a way to order his words in that would not offend or aggravate the werewolf. “H-He’s not on the list.”

“I don’t care,” Derek said, his voice low and steady as his bright eyes honed in on the boy.

“Mr Hale, with all due respect, Mr Stilinski is not a suitable slave,” the headmaster objected. “He’s not broken, he’s not trained, he’s not characteristically appealing or the least bit tolerable.”

The boy pulled a sour face, offended by the man’s statement.

“He’s trouble.”

“I don’t care,” Derek repeated, his voice level and calm. “I want him.”

“As you wish,” the headmaster sighed, resigned in his defeat. “I shall fetch his records for you.” He turned to the selected students and announced, “The rest of you are free to go.”

The selected students all turned and walked out of the room, relieved that they had not been chosen. One of them – a sweet boy with kind eyes, Scott – hesitated, his worried gaze focused on the boy who stood before the beta. He bowed his head, tears welling in his eyes as he left.

The headmaster bowed politely and rushed out of the class room with the students. Derek could hear he footsteps thundering down the hallway, either because he was scared to leave the betas waiting or because he was scared to be in that room any longer. Regardless, he left the three of them alone in the room.

Peter leant to the side, looking around Derek’s body in order to get a good look of the child that had so rudely interrupted the proceedings. He had already formed his opinion of the boy when he fell through the door, and it was not a pleasant one. But it was emphasised by what the headmaster said about the child’s lack of training or tolerable characteristics. And it was only furthered by how the boy looked: scrawny and scared.

“Seriously?” Peter growled, looking the boy up and down in disgust, as if Derek had picked up a child caked in mud and faeces off of the streets or a dog out of a gutter with matted fur, mould, shit and an inescapable stench. “He reeks. What is that? Anxiety?”

Derek rolled his eyes, ignoring his uncle.

“What’s your name?” he asked the boy, voice gentle and comforting.

“Stiles,” the boy rasped. “Stiles Stilinski.”

Derek nodded. It was an unusual name, but if it’s what the boy wanted to be called then ‘Stiles’ it shall be.

“I’m Derek,” the boy replied softly.

“That’s ‘master’ to you,” Peter growled at the boy.

Derek shot his uncle a dirty glare.

He turned back to Stiles and whispered, “Ignore him.”

Peter was right though, the boy’s chemosignals were pungent. The smell of anxiety and fear radiated off of the boy’s trembling body.

Derek wanted so badly to reach forward and pull him into his arms, to hug him until he calmed down. To hold him close and assure him everything would be okay. But he knew that would only make things worse. Having six feet of pure muscle and killer instinct holding you close wasn’t the most comforting thing in the world. So, instead, he tried to comfort the boy in a more passive manner, whispering to him quietly.

“It’s okay,” he promised. “You’re going to be alright. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The boy didn’t seem to assured.

“Come have a seat,” Derek encouraged.

Stiles took it as an order, walking stiffly over to the small chair that Derek gestured towards.

Derek sat in one close by, looking at the boy with admiration.

“Your mother isn’t going to be pleased with this,” Peter muttered behind them.

Derek turned on him. “If she wasn’t so insistent on me getting a human then this would never have happened. So you can shut up and just deal with the fact that I chose him. You kept up your end of the bargain: you brought me here and you made sure I took someone home. Now sit there and shut up or so help me I will tell Lydia how much of a rude, volatile and condescending prick you’ve been.”

The colour drained from Peter’s cheeks.

Derek heard Stiles’ heart skip a beat. He turned back to the boy with worried eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Stiles froze, his heart rate increasing to a rapid pounding.

“Answer your master, slave,” Peter growled.

“One more word, Peter, and I swear to God I’m telling Lydia,” Derek threatened.

The boy’s racing heart skipped heartbeat. It was quiet among the boy’s thundering pulse, but it was there nonetheless; a beat of silence and a small gasp.

Derek looked at the boy, his brow raised quizzically but expression tender, patient and encouraging.

“Did you know Lydia?” Derek whispered.

Stiles swallowed hard. His lips trembled as if he wished to speak, but he remained silent.

Derek’s soft expression seemed to grow sad as the seconds ticked on and the boy remained silent. He kept his glittering aventurine eye on Stiles, talking softly as he said, “Let’s get you home then, shall we?”

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

Stiles was utterly terrified.

And no matter how many times his new owner told him to calm down or how handsome the beta was – and oh God, was he attractive – the boy’s anxieties didn’t dwindle.

Stiles couldn’t breathe. It felt as if something had slammed into him, like that time during lacrosse practice when Jackson Whittemore had slammed into his back, knocking the air from his lungs and bringing tears to his eyes. That’s what it felt like: the burning feeling of breathlessness that radiated from his chest. The warm air around him thinned, unbreathable. Hot tears burnt at his eyes, blurring his vision and streaking lights and colours of the world around him.

Stiles froze. His heart thumped in his ears as bile rose into his throat.

His mind screamed at him to run, but his body felt numb. It was instinct, fight or flight, and there was no way Stiles took a chance if he were to fight. He could barely fight off a teenager his own age and race; he stood no chance against a werewolf.

But if he stood any chance of survival, he had to fight that instinct. Running would only get him hurt or killed.

His anxiety was only made worse by the thought of how many ways the betas could punish him if he were to run away: beat him to a bloody pulp, scratch him deep enough that it would scar his flesh and leave a permanent reminder of their dominance, to bite him and control him through the ranking of werewolves or kill him if he didn’t change, rip him to shreds and leave him in a puddle of blood, or simply just tear his throat out.

His body trembled, adrenaline coursing through his veins and his heart pounding against his ribs.

His lips trembled with uneven breaths as the beta stepped closer.

No matter how many time his new master asked him to calm down, he couldn’t.

Then he heard the words that made it all so much worse: “Let’s get you home, shall we?”

Stiles was ushered out of the classroom and towards the front doors while the beta’s uncle, Peter, lingered behind to collect the boy’s papers and sign what he needed to sign.

He felt the eyes of everyone in the school fall on him. Their piercing gazed burnt through his skin as the gathering crowd watched on with a mix of shock, surprise, fear and pain. There was a buzz of hushed whispers that floated through the air, swirling around him like a ghostly wind. The hallway felt nightmarish, an endless swirling tunnel. Tears burnt his eyes, blurring his vision as his legs threatened to collapse beneath him.

Derek steadied a hand around his shoulder, not threatening or overbearing, just enough to support the boy. Stiles felt a strange sense of relief, a cool rush in his blood that slowed his heartbeat, as the man’s broad hand settled on his shoulder blade.

His mind was cluttered with thoughts.

_Don’t fall_ , he though, feeling his knees tremble and bow. _One foot in front of the other._

Finally they made it out into the cool air of the day.

Derek walked him over to the car and held the door open for him.

Stiles slid into the back of the sleek black Camaro. He paused for a moment as Derek slid into the seat next to him.

He looked at the man, his lips trembling as he contemplated speaking.

He decided it was best not to push the boundaries or dare challenge his authority, and taking before permission was given was sure to enrage him. Instead, he swallowed hard and settled back into the leather seat as much as he could.

Derek looked at him, his eyes glimmering with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles bowed his head, avoiding eye contact and remaining silent.

“Stiles,” Derek said softly, his husky voice warming the boy’s heart. “What’s wrong?”

“I… uh… I have a car,” Stiles rasped. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” Derek assured him. “Would you like me to send someone to collect it?”

Stiles avoided the man’s gaze.

“Stiles, I have nothing against you having a car,” the man explained. “And I wholly welcome giving you the freedom for you to drive it, I just don’t want to risk Peter going berserk if I’m out of his supervision and he definitely won’t let you go on your own.”

Stiles glanced up at the man. He swore it was a glance, but there was something about his gaze, a tenderness, that made it impossible to look away.

“If you want, I can send someone for it later or I can hand the keys off to one of your friends,” Derek offered.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Stiles rasped.

“You’re not,” Derek assured him.

“Could… Could you send for it?”

Derek smiled sweetly, his eyes glittering kindly as he nodded. “Okay.”

There was a loud thunk as Peter hurled the front door open and slid into the driver’s seat. The car’s engine roared to life, muffling the man’s irritated, grumbled words, “I’m not a bloody taxi driver, Derek.”

“Just drive, Peter,” Derek replied, his voice low and dry.

Derek instinctively shuffled a little closer to Stiles, pulling the boy into his arms. Among the purring sound of the Camaro, Stiles could feel Derek’s low, continuous growl. He suspected that it was a defensive one, warning Peter off, and Peter seemed to notice. The older man glanced up in the rear-view mirror, staring at the boy with a disapproving glare.

Derek returned the glare, his growl growing louder as he pulled Stiles closer.

Stiles held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs as his lungs burnt desperately for the cool relief of oxygen. His hands began to tremble violently, his lips quivering as hot tears prickled in his eyes.

Derek picked up on it instantly, weakening his hold on the boy, realising that he was crowding the boy. He quietly shushed the boy, gently caressing the boy’s head, his other hand steadying the boy as his body began to sway.

Stiles began to tremble more violently, his eyes focused on every detail of the man’s body that the loose fabric of his Henley failed to cover; his strong hands, his defined muscles, his firm forearms, his strong biceps, his stern jar covered in dark whiskers, and the pearly white teeth – although they didn’t look like the prominent fangs hey beared in wolf form, the thought was enough to scare the boy.

He cursed himself for not noticing sooner; this man was a killer by instinct.

Stiles felt weak, his breath was coming in shallow gasps. He fought desperately to fight the pending panic attack. If it overwhelmed him now his owner would only get angry and hurt him. Not that Derek had hurt him yet, but Stiles knew it was only a matter of time. Stiles tried not to provoke the man, but the smell of terror and anxiety was definitely something that would soon aggravate him. And, if the stories were true, Derek had every reason to resent humans.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

“Hey,” Derek whispered, trying his hardest to calm the boy.

He knew Stiles was anxious, and he understood why; being taken away from your friends and family wasn’t the most pleasant experience, and sitting in a confined space with a predatory creature probably did not help the boy’s spiking fear. Derek tried to think. Holding him close – like you would a child – would not help the situation. Speaking softly seemed to work for a little while, but it didn’t seem to be working any more.  No matter what he did or how hard he tried, he couldn’t calm the boy down.

Then it struck him; his reputation always proceeded him. And because of everything that had happened in the past, everyone expected him to be vindictive and abusive as he displaced his anger on other humans.

“Stiles, look at me,” Derek urged. He shuffled away from Stiles slightly, releasing the boy from his hold and sitting back in his seat. He craned his neck to look Stiles in the eye. “Whatever rumours there are, they’re not true. Yes, I was abused by humans previously, but that doesn’t mean I hate humans. I’m completely against human slavery, that’s why I’m as old as I am and without a slave. The only reason I’m here today is because my mother got tired of waiting.”

The boy didn’t react, he remained still, like a deer in headlights.

“Stiles, I’m going to make you a promise,” Derek said softly.

Stiles was still trembling, breathless.

“I promise, I will never hurt you,” Derek said.

The boy met his gaze, captivated by the glistening depths of Derek’s eyes.

“Never,” he promised.

He held his hand out in front of him, palm up and patiently waiting for the boy to respond.

Stiles drew a shallow breath, looking Derek in the eye. Slowly, he reached out and brushed his fingertips down the man’s palm, granting him permission.

“Okay,” Derek whispered, cautiously moving closer and opening his arms to welcome Stiles into his hold.

The boy let out a soft whimper as he fell into Derek’s arms.

Derek cupped the back of his head, cradling the boy against his chest. He let out a soft sigh, relieved as he held Stiles close. He heard Stiles’ heartbeat slow slightly, still scared by the stress of the day – and Derek didn’t blame him.

He set his hand on the back of the boy’s neck. Stiles flinched at the touch but didn’t pull back.

He gently stroked the patch of skin that covered the boy’s thundering pulse, mingling their scents. It wasn’t completely intentional, but it did set aside any territorial issues he may have later. The ball of his thumb lovingly caressed the line of the boy’s silky hair.

“Really, Derek?" Peter growled, glaring at him in the rear-view mirror. "I swear, if you start pissing on him now, I’m kicking you both out of the car and you’re walking home."

“It’s my car, Peter,” Derek reminded him.

Peter snarled at them, and Stiles shrank into himself, cowering in Derek’s arms.

"You're welcome, Derek," Peter mused sarcastically as he drove. "It was my pleasure, Derek. So happy I could help, Derek."

Derek rolled his eyes and ignored his uncle, pressing his nose into Stiles’ temple and simply breathing, taking in the boy's scent and marking his pale skin with his own.

The beta spoke softly against Stiles' temple, murmuring, “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

Stiles felt a hand settle over his chest, right over his pounding heart. His brain flashed through the images of fingers clenching and claws tearing through his clothes and flesh, streams of blood gushing from the open wounds. He gasped, but didn’t flinch, blinking quickly until the image disappeared. But after a second, the fear subsided and Stiles felt himself settling into the firm but gentle touch.

_He won’t hurt me_ , Stiles told himself. _He promised he won’t._

He drew a deep breath, feeling the weight of the hand rise and fall with his chest.

He sat still, stunned. Normally his panic seemed attacks would take longer to subside, anywhere between a few minutes to hours on end. But Derek to be able to calm him in mere seconds.

At least, it did, until the car pulled up to a stop.

"We're here," the Peter announced.

Derek cradled Stiles against his chest as he reached across the boy and tugged open the door handle. He gently pushed the door open, letting the bright light of day seep into the cool shadows of the car.

Stiles wasn’t sure if he had been granted permission to move or not. He stayed still, his hand beginning to tremble as anxiety filled his veins.

Derek altered his hold on the boy, giving him enough room, but still Stiles hesitated to move.

“Come on,” Derek whispered quietly. “Let’s get you inside.”

Permission granted, Stiles shuffled towards the door and out onto the sidewalk. Derek followed, sliding gracefully out of the back of the car and standing proud.

“You’re welcome,” Peter called after Derek as the man shut the car door.

Derek weakened his hold on Stiles, leaving the boy to stand alone in the open – completely trusting him not to run away – as he stepped over to the car, pulled open the passenger door and aid something about Peter returning the car when he’s done.

Peter smirked, his cynical expression frightening Stiles more than he would care to admit.

“I suppose you’ll be telling your mother about… _him_ ,” Peter snarled.

“Don’t act like you didn’t already call her while you were fetching his papers,” Derek replied. “And yes, I will be calling my mum later this evening to assure her that whatever negative comments and sadistic ideas you have conjured up are all unfounded and completely absurd.”

Peter glanced over his nephew’s shoulder, glaring judgmentally at Stiles. “I give him an hour before his screws up… Wait, no: ten minutes.”

“Goodbye, Peter,” Derek said bluntly, shutting the door with a heavy thud as he turned to Stiles and held his arm out in a welcoming gesture.

Stiles took a step closer, letting Derek set his broad hand between the boy’s rigid shoulder blades. He guided the boy inside of the large building. Stiles followed his lead upstairs and into a well-furnished, upscale apartment – nothing like what the industrial building looked like from the outside – with vases full of elegant flowers, plush couches, and carved mahogany tables. Stiles’ attention was drawn to the wall shelves to his left, stacked full of books: classical literature, hard cover novels, tattered old texts, a collection of fiction and non-fiction, and books on the supernatural.

Stiles felt dirty and out of place, just standing in the doorway made him feel nervous.

His heart skipped a beat at the loud clatter of locks as Derek shut and bolted the door behind them.

_This is it_ , Stiles thought.

The tidal wave of horrific thoughts and graphic images crashed over him. Had all those promises been for show? Had he said those words just to lure Stiles into a false sense of security? Had he been lying the whole time in order to lead Stiles back to his den like a pig to slaughter?

Stiles heard footsteps circle him.

“Come on, we’ll have lunch first,” Derek announced as he passed Stiles and walked towards the kitchen.

Stiles followed, trying to be as quiet as possible. He stayed in the doorway, awaiting orders as Derek moved gracefully around the kitchen.

Derek stilled in his motions, glancing over his shoulder at the boy.

“Stiles,” Derek said softly, looking at the boy in the doorway. “I should probably explain a few things. Firstly, you’re not a slave; you’re a human who lives here with me but in no way do I expect you to do any duties or serve me in any way. Secondly, I like to cook – it’s peaceful – but if you’d ever like to help, then say so. Thirdly, don’t worry about cleaning or anything because I hire a service that comes in twice a week. Finally, you are free to do as you wish. I’ll send for your car after lunch, and you are more than welcome to drive it and go where you like – just please tell me before you go so I know that nothing bad has happened to you. And if there’s anything you need, you just need to say so.”

“Can I help?” Stiles rasped.

Derek smiled and nodded. “Okay. Can you please grab two glasses from the cupboard next to the fridge?”

Stiles nodded and made his way over the cupboard. His hands trembled as he slowly pulled open the door. He cursed at himself for not being able to still the tremors as he picked up two of the glass cups and carefully lifted them down from the shelf.

That’s when things went bad.

He felt his breath catch in his throat and his heart sink into his get as one of the glasses slipped from his grasp.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

Derek felt his heart skip a beat at the sound of shattering glass. He span around, eyes wide with fear as the shards glittered like crystal and rained around the floor.

“I’m sorry,” the boy said weakly, tears glistening in his eyes as he dropped to his knees and picked up the pieces. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He said the same two words over and over.

“Stiles,” Derek said softly, stepping forward. But the boy ignored him. “Stiles.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The tears struck the tiles and Derek was met with a strange scent – one he knew all too well. It was bitter and metallic, like copper.

“Stiles,” Derek said, panicked as his eyes looked down at the boy’s hands. Beads of vibrant red blood broke the surface, streaming in rivers across his palms. But the boy didn’t seem to notice; he was too worked into a frenzy of fear and panic.

“Stiles!” Derek roared.

The boy flinched, falling still.

Derek drew a deep breath and lowered his voice. “It’s okay. It was an accident.”

Stiles was silent. He didn’t dare look up.

“Stiles, it’s okay.” He reached his hand out the way he did in the car and waited until Stiles reacted. The boy lifted his trembling hand and ran his fingertips ever so lightly down the palm of Derek’s hand. Derek sighed. “I need to get you out from among the glass, okay?”

Stiles nodded.

Derek leant forward, carefully pulling the boy into his arms and out of the mess of glass. He heard Stiles gasp as he was lifted – superhuman strength isn’t something you experience every day. He set the boy down on the counter, out of the way of harm. He held him close for a moment, gently stroking the tears off of his cheeks and whispering words of reassurance to him.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” the boy rasped, still not looking up at Derek.

“It’s okay.”

Derek took a step back and looked at the boy’s hands. He carefully pulled the shards of glass out of his flesh and rinsed Stiles’ hands beneath a running tap. The cool water seemed to calm the boy. Derek reached into the cupboard above the sink and collected bandages, cotton balls, Band-Aids and disinfectant. He carefully dabbed at the open wounds with disinfectant, flinching when the boy gasped at the burning pain. He continued as quickly as he could, covering the smaller wounds on his right hand with Band-Aids and the larger on his left with the bandages.

Derek thought for a moment, looking down at the boy worried. This is what Peter wanted. This is what the school was talking about.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles muttered. “I’m not…”

“Perfect?” Derek finished. “No-one is.”

“Your uncle was right; I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Derek whispered, gently stroking the boy’s hair. He reached back across the kitchen and collected the glass that sat on the counter top. He filled it with water and held it out for Stiles to take.

The boy froze for a moment.

“I highly doubt you’re going to break two in a row,” Derek assured him.

But none-the-less, Stiles was extremely careful. He held the glass in two hands and cautiously sipped at the water.

Derek cleaned up the mess he had made of the medical supplies and glanced over his shoulder at the shattered glass.

“I’ll clean it up,” Stiles croaked.

Derek shook his head.

“It can wait.” He turned his bright aventurine irises back to the boy. His eyes seemed so sad, full of such worry and concern for the boy. “How are your hands? Do they hurt?”

Stiles looked down at his hands. He blinked heavily – his face twisted in confusion – as if he only just realised that he was hurt. He shook his head. “It’s just a couple of cuts.”

Derek took the glass from the boy and set it down, cupping Stiles’ hands in his own.

“Please don’t freak out,” Derek whispered. He drew in a deep breath. It hit him hard, a wave of pain that made his veins throb as the blood seemed to run black.

Stiles’ watched carefully.

When Derek was sure that the boy wasn’t denying any more pain, he let go of Stiles’ hands.

“That didn’t weird you out?” he asked.

“I’ve had someone do that to me before,” Stiles explained.

“You had a previous owner?” Derek asked, brow dipping in confusion.

Stiles shook his head.

“Then who?”

Stiles opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. He pursed his lips in thought before replying, “I… I can’t say.”

Derek sighed and nodded.

“Okay,” he muttered, admitting defeat and leaving the subject to drop. “Do you want to go sit down at the table? I’ll bring the sandwiches over.”

He helped Stiles down from the counter.

The boy paused in the doorway, looking back at the mess of glass.

“Ignore it,” Derek said softly. “I’ll clean it up later. Lunch first.”

He carried the plates over to the table, watching as Stiles seemed panicked about the idea of sitting down.

“You can sit anywhere,” Derek assured him.

Stiles drew in a shaky breath and sat down in the closest seat. Derek set the plate before him and his plate in front of the seat at the head of the table before walking back into the kitchen to fetch Stiles’ glass of water and give it to the boy.

He pulled back his seat to sit down when there was a soft knock at the door.

Derek sighed and looked at Stiles. “You can eat, I’ll only be a moment.”

Stiles bowed his head and picked up the sandwich.

Derek knew he felt under pressure, questioning whether every choice was the right one and if permission was really granted, but he didn’t know how to assure the boy that everything would be okay. Growling probably didn’t help. Maybe this was something that would go away with time, as Stiles learnt that Derek wasn’t a threat.

Derek made his way across the open space towards the front door. He opened it and smiled as Laura beamed back at him.

“Mum sent you, didn’t she?” Derek asked as he welcomed his older sister inside.

Laura nodded. “She wanted to know if there was any truth to what Peter’s been saying about the boy you brought home.”

“Absolutely not,” Derek replied.

Laura glanced across the space, her dark brown eyes honing on the boy. She smiled sweetly. “Hi, you must be Stiles.”

The boy bowed his head, avoiding eye contact.

“What happened to your hands, darling?” Laura asked, rushing over to the table. When Stiles didn’t reply, she span around and faced her brother. “What did you do?”

“He didn’t do it,” Stiles muttered. “I dropped a glass.”

“It was an accident,” Derek replied. “If you want proof, it’s still on the kitchen floor.”

“You just left it there?” Laura gasped.

“It literally just happened,” Derek argued. “I was a little more concerned with taking care of Stiles.”

Laura raised her hands in defeat. “You have a good point.”

Derek glanced at Stiles, the boy watched in terror. Derek knew he was waiting for the glowing eyes, fangs and claws to come out.

Derek smiled at him, trying his best to assure him that wouldn’t happen.

“I’ll go clean it up for you,” Laura offered.

“I can clean it up,” Derek replied.

“Fine, but I’m helping,” Laura said, turning swiftly and making her way into the kitchen.

Derek followed.

Once out of earshot, Derek looked at his sister. “I don’t know what to do. He’s terrified of me and I have no way of showing him that I’m not like Peter or other werewolves.”

“Give it time, Der,” Laura advised, her voice soft and comforting.

She collected the dustpan and brush from beneath the sink – already knowing where it is considering she was the only family member that Derek welcomed into his apartment, the only other people being Cora and his mother sometimes. She handed Derek the dust pan and collected the larger shards by hand, carefully as Derek swept up the mess.

“He’ll come around,” she assured her brother. She brushed the large chunks of glass off of her hands and into the nearby bin, sitting in silence for a moment before looking at Derek. “Mum wants you to bring Stiles to the manor tonight.”

“Laura,” Derek sighed, agitated by his family’s invasiveness.

“She knows it’s a sensitive time for you two; initial bonding, scenting and what not. But considering everything that’s happened before-”

“Stiles isn’t Kate,” Derek interrupted, his voice prickly and defensive. “Or Jennifer.”

“I know,” Laura whispered. “But can’t you at lease consider coming? Just make an appearance, introduce Stiles to the pack, let mum do her alpha traditions and what not, set aside any anxiety and put her out of her misery.”

Derek sighed, sweeping the shards of glass into the dust pan and tipping them into the bin.

“Fine,” Derek growled. “But I’m not staying the night if Peter’s there.”

“What did he do?” Laura asked.

“What didn’t he do?” Derek replied.

Laura sighed. “I’m sorry, I should have been there.”

“No, it’s fine.”

Derek heard the soft patter of footsteps as they stopped in the doorway. The beta turned to look at the boy. “You okay, Stiles?”

“Can I…?” He bowed his head, looking down into the empty glass.

“Go right ahead,” Derek answered. “If you want, I have Cola, Lemonade, juice, Mountain Dew, pretty much anything you could ever want.”

Stiles bit into his lip, scared to ask.

“Which one do you want?” Derek asked.

“Mountain Dew, please?” Stiles muttered.

Derek nodded. He turned to Laura. “Can you grab the bottle out of the fridge?”

She turned around and tugged open the fridge door. She grabbed the bottle and passed it to Derek. Derek set it up on the counter and collected a second glass.

“Want any?” he asked Laura.

She shook her head. “I’d better be on my way. I’ve got to get home before he-who-must-not-be-named fills mum’s head with more lies. Dinner’s at seven, but mum will probably want to talk to you before that so come a little earlier.” She turned and smiled at Stiles as the boy carefully set his glass on the counter. “It was nice to meet you, Stiles. Hopefully next time we can talk more.”

Stiles bowed his head courteously.

Derek filled the glasses and handed Stiles’ back to the boy. “I’ll go see her out, help yourself to anything.”

Stiles nodded and carefully carried his glass back to the table.

Derek walked his sister out of the apartment and down to her car.

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” she said as she reached for the driver’s side door. “You’re doing great.”

“Am I?’

“It’ll take time for him to warm up to you,” Laura told him. “But from what I’ve seen, you’ve already made a lot of progress. Just stick with it, you’ll do great.”

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

Stiles settled into the plush cushioning of the Camaro’s passenger seat. He watched as the glowing circles of light from the street lamps passed, lulling him into a sense of comfort. It did help that Derek was a better driver than his uncle and that Peter wasn’t there.

Stiles rested his head against the cool glass of the window, staring out at the world that passed by.

He could feel Derek’s gaze fall on him as he looked back and forth between Stiles and the road.

“What?” Stiles asked, glancing down at himself. “Should I have dressed better? Have I got something on my face?”

“No,” Derek said softly, setting aside the boy’s anxieties. “It’s just… I’m still coming to terms with the fact that this is real… And I’m not looking forward to facing whatever unfounded lies Peter has told my mother about you.”

“It’ll be okay, right?”

Derek smiled at him, reaching across to the boy and gently patting his knee.

“It’ll be fine,” he assured the boy.

Stiles smiled.

Derek pulled up before the large house, parking and shutting off the engine. Leant forward on the dashboard and looked out at the well-lit house.

Stiles tried to breathe deeply and calm himself, and Derek obviously noticed.

“Hey,” the beta said quietly. “It’ll be okay.”

“What if I’m not good enough?”

“You are,” Derek whispered, patting the boy’s knee. “You’re more than enough.”

Stiles smiled weakly and glanced out the window.

“My family’s going to love you,” Derek assured him. “Some of them can be a little overbearing at time. My little sister’s about your age with one hell of an attitude, I don’t know if Peter will be there, and a couple of my cousins are visiting from up north and they’re still pups and they’re pretty energetic. But if it gets too much, you can hide behind me.”

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered.

Derek gently patted his knee. “Come on. Let’s get this over and done with.”

Stiles smiled and opened to door. The dry autumn leaves crunched beneath the soles of his shoes. He rose to his feet, his legs trembling slightly as he let go of the door and shut it behind himself.

Derek rounded the car, resting his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and walking him towards the house. He pushed open the large doors and ushered Stiles inside.

The boy stayed just inside the doorway as Derek closed the door from the cool breeze and joined him.

There was a clatter of heels on wooden floorboards as a girl came racing down the hallway. The floral-printed fabric of her skirt billowed and wavered as she sprinted down the stairs. Her soft ginger locks bounced off of her shoulders, whipping through the air as she raced across the foyer and leapt into Stiles’ arms.

The boy was stunned for a moment. He could smell her strawberry shampoo and hear her soft voice say his name.

“Lydia?” Stiles gasped, coiling his arms around her lean body.

She pulled back, cupping Stiles’ cheeks as tears rolled down hers. She smiled sweetly and pulled him back into another hug.

“Oh thank God,” Stiles sighed, holding her close. He pulled back again, looking her up and down. “Please tell me he hasn’t-”

“No,” Lydia interrupted. “No, he wouldn’t dare hurt me.”

Stiles looked into her eyes.

It was her, alright. It was his Lydia.

He was so caught up in their reunion that he didn’t hear the footsteps of others coming to join them. As he pulled back, he saw Laura and another woman, an older one, hug Derek and talk to him softly. Peter lurked behind them, glaring at Stiles. Lydia snapped around, returning his glare with one more fierce. The beta bowed his head and walked away.

“Stiles,” Derek said softly.

The boy turned at his name.

“I would like to introduce you to my alpha,” Derek said. “Mum, this is Stiles.”

Talia smiled at the boy. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Stiles.”

Stiles bowed courteously.

“I must say, Peter painted a more… vivid image.”

Derek’s smile dropped. He looked to Laura who shrugged and mouthed, ‘I tried’.

“I assure you, mum, Peter’s words are judgmental and unfounded,” Derek said.

“And I can vouch for Stiles’ character,” Lydia added. “I assure you Alpha Hale, Peter is completely wrong.”

Derek’s mother nodded.

“Talia,” Peter called from the other room.

The alpha sighed.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go and see what he’s wailing about. It was a pleasure to meet you, Stiles. Derek, if the two of you get a moment, there is a gift for you up in my office. Open it whenever you want. I have to go deal with your uncle,” his mother requested, although it seemed like a gently phrased command.

Derek nodded.

The alpha nodded curtly and turned, swiftly making her way through the open doorway to where Peter was making a fuss.

“It’s probably Cora,” Laura told Derek. “She’s been doing little things to piss him off all day.”

“Like folding his socks up in odd pairs and putting salt in his coffee,” Lydia explained, unable to hide her cynical smirk.

“I should also add that Lydia tore into him about mistreating Stiles,” Laura added. “And it was quite entertaining.”

“And I would be glad to do it again,” Lydia chimed in, holding onto Stiles’ hand.

Stiles bowed his head to hide his smile.

He felt Derek’s hand rest on his shoulder.

“See?” he whispered. “The whole family is on your side.”

Lydia gave his hand a gentle squeeze, accentuating the point.

Their quiet conversation was interrupted when a teenager came sprinting out of the doorway Derek’s mother had gone through. She was giggling as she ran towards the staircase.

“Cora,” Derek called after her.

She froze in her steps, turning to look at her brother. A mischievous smile lifter her cheeks.

“What did you do this time?” Laura asked, her voice level and authoritative.

Her smile grew wider.

“Nothing,” she said; an obvious lie.

“Cora,” Laura growled. The younger girl sprinted upstairs and vanished down the halls with a trailing echo of laughter. Laura rolled her eyes and chased after her sister.

“Lydia,” the alpha called from across the foyer. “If you have a moment.”

“Is he throwing another tantrum?”

The woman nodded.

Lydia sighed. She turned to Stiles and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek before following the alpha into the other room, leaving Derek and Stiles alone.

Derek laid his arm across Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles sighed and melted into the warmth of the man’s embrace. He could smell the perfume of his deodorant and the gentle musk of his natural scent.

“Would you like to go open your present?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded.

Derek gently nuzzled the crown of his head and led the boy upstairs and down the hallway to a small room. The walls were lined with books and a heavy oak desk sat in the centre of the room, before it were two beige armchairs that were positioned atop a simple charcoal-coloured rug.

Atop the desk, among the neatly stacked papers and assorted documents was a small package wrapped in crimson paper and a black ribbon. On it was a small tag that read: for Stiles.

Derek picked the parcel up off of the desk and handed it to the boy.

Stiles looked from Derek to the parcel in his hands.

“You can open it,” Derek said, slouching back against his mother’s desk.

Stiles opened the present with trembling hands, pulling out a small leather case. He opened the lid to reveal a bracelet made of woven black leather. On it was a small silver triskelion.

“I know it’s not anything special, but it means your part of the pack,” Derek explained. “If you don’t want a bracelet, I can ask my mum to get your something else like a necklace or broach or something else. You don’t have to wear it all the time, but I do ask that you wear it when you go out on your own, just to let others know that you are under the protection of the Hale family.”

“Can I wear it?” Sties asked.

Derek smiled. “Of course. If you want to.”

The beta took a cautious step forward and took Stiles’ hand in his own. He helped the boy wrap the bracelet around his wrist and fastened the clasp.

Stiles felt Derek’s fingers brush ever so tenderly over the boy’s soft skin. He wondered for a moment if the werewolf could feel his heart skip a beat. But for the first time that day, he felt completely safe with the werewolf touching him.

Derek gently brushed his thumb across the boy’s wrist, lifting his gaze to look the boy in the eye.

Stiles felt his heart skip a beat, his lips trembling with shallow breaths as he lost himself in the depths of the man’s gorgeous irises.

There was a soft knock at the door, breaking the tension as they looked up to see Laura in the doorway. She smiled at them and said, “Dinner’s ready.”

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

Stiles laid awake in the large bed, smothered by warm blankets and listening to the quiet of the night.

Alpha Hale had insisted that he and Derek stay the night because, by the time dinner finished, it was too late to drive home. Derek had argued the fact for nearly an hour, determined to keep Stiles away from Peter, but finally caved to his mother’s will.

Stiles felt a little anxious staying in that massive house, and he kind of wished Derek had requested the boy sleep in his bed. Not that Stiles _wanted_ to sleep with Derek, but he wouldn’t have objected if he had asked.

Down the hallway, he could hear the large grandfather clock ticking away the seconds and chiming to signify the sleepless hours that passed.

It felt strange, being away from home for the first time in a long time.

Stiles’ heart sank at the thought of never going home again.

What about his dad?

What about Scott?

He couldn’t leave them.

Derek had said that Stiles was free to leave if he wished, he just had to wear the bracelet; which he hadn’t taken off since he got it. He didn’t want to wake Derek to tell him he was going out for a little while, so he swore to himself that he would be back before dawn so that they wouldn’t know he had left or think that he had been taken, and if he couldn’t then he would call Derek later when he wasn’t sleeping.

He pushed aside the heavy blankets and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He steadied his feet on the ground, pulling his socks on to stop his toes from freezing. He pulled on his jeans and his hoodie, pocketing his phone as he slid his feet into his sneakers and crept towards the door.

He set one foot in front of the other, careful not to make any floorboard shriek in pain or groan under pressure, alerting any werewolves to his actions. He crept downstairs and across they foyer, zipping up his jacket as he slinked out the front door and into the cool of the night.

The cool air stung at his cheeks.

He buried his hands in his pockets and began to make his way down the snaking drive way that wove through the forest. The pale, bleached bark of the birch trees glowed among the shadows of the pines and dense shrubbery. Their slender trunks were lined with eye-like rings that watched him from all angles.

He had estimated that the walk would take an hour or so, and began to numb his senses to the peaceful night.

The soles of his shoes crunched dried leaves and brittle sticks.

The usual autumn tones of brown, gold and red were darkened by the night, now a dreary mix of greys and heavy black shadows. Dense foliage hung overhead, enclosing the space, shutting out the sky and filtering moonlight. Streams of silver light surrounded him, not enough to see but just enough to distinguish shapes from shadows.

There was a rustle in the bushes in front of him. Clumps of leaves and low hanging branches crackled, shook and bowed as a big black shadow slinked into the open, broad feet thumping the ground. Claws dug into the mud, upturning the dirt and releasing the sweet earthy scent.

The silhouette froze and turned towards him. The shadowy shape changed as the creature rose up on its hind feet. Its large form was human; standing proud and tall on slender legs. The man’s glowing cyan irises pierced the inky veil of night, glaring at the boy. His hands were human, but bore thick, curved claws like talons that were lit by the bleeding streams of moonlight.

Stiles froze, eyes wide. He held his breath, pulse pounding in his eyes as his heart thumped against his ribs.

The beta towered before him, growling – low and threatening – as they stalked towards the boy.

Stiles flinched as the creature roared.

He dropped to his knees, cowering before the beta.

He didn’t see the man’s feet approach but he heard the sticks break. He heard the heavy breaths, and felt the hot air roll over his flesh. He felt the tension in the air and the glare that burnt through his skin.

He never saw the man’s face, but he remembers is the pain.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

Derek woke with a start to the sound of slamming doors. He sat up in bed, groaning as he made his way towards the door. But no sooner had he opened his bedroom door did he hear the unforgettable gut-wrenching scream.

The sound was enough to knock the air from his lungs.

He tore down the hallway, running as fast as he could.

He froze at the top of the stairs, only taking in fractions of what he saw: Stiles curled up on the floor, sobbing as blood seeped through his clothes; and Peter, eyes glowing as he towered over the boy, fangs beared and claws dripping with blood.

Derek lunged forward, leaping from the staircase and tackling Peter to the ground.

Peter rolled to the side, regaining his balance as Derek lurched at him again.

The older man grabbed his outstretched arm and tossed him aside. He collided with the thick wooden plank of the doorframe, his jagged teeth tearing through his lip as the splintering wood tore through his skin. He pushed off of the wall and leapt forward again.

Peter dodged the attack, rounding his nephew as the younger beta hit the ground and rolled, quickly returning to his hands and feet. He crawled like an animal to Stiles’ side, hunching over the boy protectively as his own eyes lit up a magnificent shade of sapphire.

“He was trying to run away,” Peter growled.

“You need to learn your place,” Derek retorted.

Peter’s rage escalated.

“I will not stand aside and let another human trample over you,” the man howled. “ _He_ needs to learn his place!”

Peter sprinted towards the beta. Derek braced himself and took the blow, pushing back against the man will all his might.

Sharp nails collided with flesh, spilling blood across the floor.

Derek knocked Peter’s feet out from beneath him, pinning him down against the ground. The man thrashed about in his hold but Derek pushed him further back against the unforgiving tiles. He swung his arms back and forth, tearing gashes of flesh from his uncle’s chest.

A thundering howl split the air.

Derek froze.

He turned towards the stairwell. His mother stood defiantly on the landing, glaring at the two of them with bright red eyes.

Laura skirted around her mother, hurrying down the stairs and to Stiles’ side.

Derek span around and snarled at his sister.

“Derek,” his mother said warningly, with all the calm, composure and authority of an alpha.

The beta weakened. He looked up to his mother pleadingly.

She nodded.

He scurried across the floor to Stiles’ side.

Laura held her hands over the gaping wounds in the boy’s chest.

The boy was shuddering, limbs trembling and lips quivering. Glistening tears streamed down his cheeks as he kept his eyes shut.

Peter had landed one good blow, leaving four gashes in the boy’s jaw and a matching trail down his chest.

Derek carefully lifted the boy into his arms.

“Keep your hands here,” Laura instructed, setting Derek’s palm over the boy’s bleeding chest. “I’ll get towels and bandages.”

She scurried off, leaving Derek alone to hold the boy.

Stiles gasped for air, his eyes cracking open ever so slightly to look at Derek.

“I wasn’t…” he rasped. “I wasn’t running away.”

“I know,” Derek whispered, gently stroking back the boy’s ruffled hair with his free hand. “I know.”

The boy winced in pain.

Derek flinched, looking down at the crimson streams that rolled over his hand. He drew in a deep breath, ignoring the copper smell of blood, and began to syphon the boy’s pain. He heard the boy’s breathing ease and his body settle into Derek’s arms.

“Stay awake, Stiles,” Derek pleaded. “Stay with me.”

Laura hurried back to their side, pressing towels over the boy’s chest and soaking up the blood. Lydia dropped to her knees, sorting through medical equipment and pulling out a needle and thread.

“Derek,” Talia called from the top of the stairs. “Come.”

Derek’s eyes darted from his mother to the boy in his arms.

“Go,” Lydia urged. “We’ll take care of him.”  
Derek was reluctant to let Stiles go. But finally he lowered the boy to the tiles and rose to his feet. He trudged up the stairwell, glancing over his shoulder to see Laura and Lydia working together to stitch shut Stiles’ wounds.

_I can’t lose him_ , Derek thought to himself, feeling tears of pain burnt at his eyes. _I can’t_.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

“Stiles wouldn’t run away,” Derek argued. He drew in a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he looked up at his mother. “Besides, I told him he had my permission to leave at any time, as long as he’s wearing a token of the Hale family to ensure he’s protected.”

“A slave should never leave without his master’s permission and supervision,” Peter growled.

“He is not a slave!” Derek howled. “He is a human.”

Talia cleared her throat, silencing the men.

The two settled back into the armchairs, bowing their heads in respect as Talia slouched back against the edge of her desk.

“Cora,” Talia called. “Could you please stop eavesdropping and tell your sister to bring Stiles to the office if possible.”

There was the soft patter of footsteps and neither man questioned how Talia knew her daughter was outside the door.

They sat in silence, waiting for the boy to come.

Derek tapped at the plush arm of the chair.

Finally, there was a quiet knock at the door.

Talia answered, “Come in.”

Stiles carefully opened the door and cautiously stepped inside the office.

“How are you feeling?” Talia asked with all the concern and care of a mother.

“A little sore,” Stiles admitted.

Derek glared at his uncle, letting out a low, territorial growl.

“Derek,” the alpha said warningly.

The young beta sat back in his couch.

Talia beckoned Stiles closer.

The boy was radiating fear as he stepped forward and stood between the couches. He bowed his head in respect of the alpha.

“Stiles, could you please tell me your side of tonight’s events?” Talia urged.

“I just wanted to see my dad,” the boy muttered. “He hasn’t spent a night alone in over ten years. I just wanted to make sure he was okay. I wasn’t running away, I swear. I was going to come back. I just… I wanted to see my dad.”

Talia nodded.

“What exactly happened, Stiles? From start to finish.”

Stiles explained his plan to visit his dad and be back by sunrise. He retold Derek’s rules about the token and telling him that he had left, and – if he was to be gone longer than he thought – he would call Derek at a more suitable hour. He told the alpha about how he had encountered Peter on his way and the bloody abuse that the man had unfurled on him.

She glanced down at his wrist, focusing her gaze on the woven leather bracelet that sat on his slender wrist. Her gaze shifted to Peter, nodding towards the token and daring the man to speak.

When he didn’t, Talia continued.

“Thank you, Stiles,” she said calmly. “Derek, you and Stiles are free to go. Try and get some sleep. Peter, you stay. I’m not done with you.”

Stiles bowed his head courteously and turned to leave.

Derek nodded to his alpha and whispered, “Goodnight, mum.”

He wrapped his arm around Stiles’ slender shoulders and walked him out the door.

“Can I… Can I ask something of you?” Stiles requested, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground and not daring to look up at Derek.

“Of course,” Derek said softly. “What is it?”

“Can I… sleep with you?”

Derek craned his neck and pressed a tender kiss to the crown of the boy’s head. “Of course you can.”

Stiles let out a soft sigh of relief.

Derek led the boy to his room, opening the door for him and helping him strip out of his jeans, socks and jacket.

Derek caught a glimpse of the thick white bandages and gausses that were taped to Stiles’ chest.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Stiles muttered.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered. “I never should have let this happen.”

“It’s not your fault,” Stiles assured him.

“It’s not your fault either,” Derek said before Stiles had the chance to doubt himself.

Stiles bowed his head.

“Come on,” Derek whispered, pulling back the sheets and helping Stiles lay down. “Try and get some sleep.”

Derek rounded the bed and crawled in beneath the sheets on the other side. He laid down on his side, not tired enough to sleep, so he listened to the sound of Stiles’ breathing.

There was a stifled sob in the boy’s breathing and he could feel the boy shiver.

Derek rolled over.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked.

“Just a little cold,” Stiles replied.

Derek shuffled forward and laid his arm around the boy’s slender waist, laying his other arm beneath Stiles’ head as a pillow.

Stiles shuffled back into Derek’s warmth, his breathing steadying. He nuzzled his face into the man’s bicep, eyelids weighed down by lethargy as they fell into the dark abyss of sleep.

Derek settled in, spooning the boy beneath the soft blanket. He felt Stiles shiver as the cold rolled over his skin. The hairs on Stiles’ arms rose and Derek tried to share his warmth the best he could. He wanted to roll over and blanket Stiles with his own warmth but his weight would most likely crush the fragile boy or scare him to death.

Derek felt the soft tufts of Stiles’ hair brush against the muscle of his bicep as he curled into the man’s warmth, his soft, sleepy breath rolling across the smooth skin of Derek’s arm.

He tucked Stiles in closer to his body, feeling his heartbeat press against the palm of the hand he held against the boy’s chest, slowly taking the boy’s pain so that he could settle and sleep. He nestled his face into the curve of the boy’s neck.

“I promise, we’ll go and see your dad in the morning,” Derek whispered.

He felt Stiles’ chest rise and fall with a sigh.

He pressed a tender kiss to the patch of skin behind the boy’s ear, listing as Stiles’ heartbeat spiked a  little, excitedly, but then settled into a peaceful, steady rhythm.

Derek nuzzled his face further into the boy’s neck, letting sleep consume him as he found himself falling into a strange – but welcome – sense of comfort and love.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

Derek was a man of his word.

In the morning, he had purposefully kept Stiles close and avoided any encounter with Peter. He took the boy’s pain frequently and flinched every time the boy winced. Stiles was honoured that he cared, but simply knowing that Derek had defended him made him trust the beta more than he did yesterday.

In the other room, Stiles heard Lydia, Laura and Talia each taking their turns in screaming at Peter, and Stiles noticed how Derek took more pleasure in it than he should have.

But after Stiles had dressed, his wounds had been cleaned and covered again in fresh bandages, and he had eaten breakfast, Derek ushered him out towards the car, telling him to settle in as he dared to enter the room of enraged women and bid his sister and his mother goodbye. He quickly hurried back out to the Camaro and slid into the driver’s seat.

The engine roared to life and Stiles sank back into the plush cushions.

When they had cleared the driveway and were making their way back towards town, Derek glanced over at Stiles and asked, “Do you want to call ahead and tell your dad we’re coming?”

Stiles froze for a moment, shocked that Derek was actually going to keep his promise. He pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly typed a pretty vague message to his dad. When the man didn’t reply in seconds – like he usually did – Stiles muttered, “He might be asleep.”

“Do you still want to go now, or do you want to visit later when he’s awake?” Derek offered.

“Go now, please,” Stiles muttered, his voice strained with fear as his mind was flooded by thoughts and images of his father in an alcohol-induced sleep, or lying cold on the kitchen floor having choked on his own vomit. _Or maybe he’s just in the shower_ , Stiles thought, trying to calm himself.

Derek seemed to notice the boy’s anxiety and Stiles froze.

“I also need to grab a change of clothes, if that’s okay,” he added, quickly changing the subject before Derek had the chance to ask.

“Of course that’s okay,” Derek replied, turning off the isolated road and back into town.

Stiles gave him directions and a few minutes later they pulled up before the house.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Derek asked.

Stiles swallowed hard, the images of his father lying on the ground with a bottle of whiskey in his hand returning. He nodded as he undid his seatbelt and climbed out of the car.

Derek followed, crossing the front lawn and standing behind Stiles as the boy pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. The locks rattled and clicked back into place. Stiles pushed the door open and stepped into the quiet house.

His eyes darted about the shadows of the house, falling upon the figure in the lounge room, slumped over the armchair.

The teen bolted upright, dark irises falling on Stiles. The whites of his eyes seemed to glow in the darkness as he rasped, “Stiles?”

“Hey,” Stiles whispered in reply.

Scott leapt from his seat and bounded across the space, pulling his friend into his arms.

Stiles gasped as a jolt of searing pain tore through his chest.

Scott stepped back, eyes wide with fear as his gaze dropped to the bandages that were wound around Stiles’ chest. Small drops of red and brown seeped through the cotton, staining the fabric of the bandages and Derek’s shirt.

The shock in his eyes quick faded, replaced with a burning rage as he lunged at Derek.

Stiles quickly leapt in between the two werewolves, holding his friend back.

“What did you do to him?” Scott howled, the chocolate brown rings of his irises glowing gold.

“It wasn’t him,” Stiles told the teen, waiting for Scott to settle into his arms and the colour of his eyes to fade back to their natural hue.

Scott’s eyes fell on the boy’s wounds, his fingers gently brushing across the smaller gashes that had been torn out of Stiles’ jaw.

“Then who?” Scott asked, struggling to keep his voice level.

“My uncle,” Derek answered. “He thought Stiles was running away.”

“So he tried to kill him?” Scott growled, his anger spiking again.

“It’s not that bad,” Stiles assured the both of them. “Besides, Lydia’s been screaming at him all morning.”

Scott smirked at the though. “Are his ears bleeding yet?”

Stiles bit into his lips to stop himself from laughing. But his smile quickly faded as he asked, “What are you doing here, Scott? Is my dad okay?”

“He’s fine,” Scott assured him. “I came over to make sure he was okay, and to make sure he didn’t…”

“Drink,” Stiles finished. He felt his shoulders drop with relief and a warmth of gratitude swell inside of him as he whispered, “Thank you.”

“He’s actually down at the station right now, collecting a few things so he can work from home today,” Scott informed him. “He should be home in a minute.”

“Does he have his phone on him?” Stiles asked, wondering why his dad hadn’t answered the text.

“I don’t think so,” Scott replied. “I think I heard it ring before.”

“Yeah, that was me sending him a text,” Stiles explained. He glanced over his shoulder at Derek, noticing that the man’s eyes were still fixed on Scott. The man’s irises had faded to jade in the shadows and looked at the teen with a mixture of surprise and confusion. Stiles’ voice shook him from his state, only momentarily. “I’m going to go get changed and pack some clothes.”

Derek nodded and watched Stiles make his way upstairs before turning his gaze back on Scott.

Scott backed up a little.

“Remember the benefits, Scott,” Stiles called over his shoulder. “Think of Allison.”

He paused in the doorway, listening to Derek talk reassuringly, telling Scott that he doesn’t have to be scared to say he’s a werewolf. In fact, the beta even offered to talk to his alpha and have Scott initiated into the pack, another Hale – although not in name.

He didn’t hear anything past that as he busied himself packing a travel back full of clothes and underwear, his toothbrush and assorted belongings. Then he shimmied out of the much-too-large jeans that Derek had loaned him and pulled on a pair of his own, packing Derek’s jeans in the bag among the other clothes. He didn’t change his shirt though, taking satisfaction in the strange sense of comfort he got from it and the heavy musky scent that radiated off of it, seeping into his skin; that scent that was Derek.

He heard the rattle of the front door and the quiet words of a third voice, one he would know anywhere, unmistakably: his dad.

Stiles swung the bag over his shoulder and scurried back out of his room. He paused at the stop of the stairwell, drawing his father’s attention.

“Stiles?” the old man gasped.

“Hi, dad,” Stiles whispered.

The boy sprinted down the stairs and leapt into his father’s arms. The man held him close, tears falling against his skin as he nuzzled hi face into the curve of the boy’s shoulder. His hands patted down the boy’s sides, as if testing whether he was real.

He pulled back from Stiles for a moment, looking the boy up and down before pulling him close again. But it only lasted a second. Sheriff Stilinski pulled him back again, glaring at the gashes in the boys chin and the bandages beneath the rippling fabric of his shirt.

“Dad,” Stiles said calmly. “It’s not what you think.”

The man remained silent.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Stiles explained. “It wasn’t Derek.”

Sheriff Stilinski glared over his shoulder at Derek. “And where were you when this happened? He’s in your care now.”

“Dad,” Stiles snapped defensively. “It wasn’t Derek’s fault.”

But it was too late. Stiles noticed the pain and guilt that flooded Derek’s shimmering eyes.

“I’m sorry,” the beta whispered. “I should have been there.”

“No, it was not Derek’s fault,” he repeated, annunciating every word. “It was a misunderstanding, because there are some werewolves that aren’t as lenient as Derek and don’t understand the concept of trusting a human.”

“You still haven’t explained what happened,” his father pointed out.

“I left the household in the middle of the night to come see you,” Stiles muttered, feeling his father’s pained gaze fall on him.

“My uncle didn’t understand that I had given Stiles permission to leave at any time and thought he was running away,” Derek finished. “I’m sorry.”

Sheriff Stilinski let out a disheartened sigh, looking his son over once more.

“Well at least you’re okay now,” the man muttered.

Derek’s phone chimed, shattering the quiet of the house.

“We should get going,” he told Stiles. “Lydia might be on the verge of killing Peter.”

Stiles and Scott both smothered their laughter.

Derek turned his eyes to Stiles and the boy’s father and spoke calmly. “I want to make it clear that Stiles has the right to leave and visit you at any time, he’s a human – a companion – not a slave. And you are always more than welcome to come and visit us, but you might want to wait a while for Lydia to calm down.”

Scott and Stiles failed to stay quiet that time, leaning against each other as they burst out laughing at the thought of sweet, five-foot-two Lydia making a full grown male beta cower in fear and beg for mercy, as only Lydia could.

“Okay, chuckles,” Sheriff Stilinski said, pulling his son into another hug. “Say goodbye to your dad.”

Stiles held the man close, fighting back tears of his own as he whispered, “I love you, dad.”

“I love you too, son,” his father replied, voice breaking slightly as he reluctantly let go of Stiles.

Scott gently patted Stiles’ shoulder and gave him a quick hug before farewelling him.

“Think on it, Scott,” Derek told the boy, gently lifting his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and walking him back to the car. He helped Stiles settle into the seat, making sure that the seatbelt didn’t pull too tightly across his tender wounds, before rounding the car and climbing into the driver’s side.

Stiles waited for the car to roar to life and Derek to pull away from the curb before turning to the man and whispering, “You know you didn’t have to do that, right?”

“What are you talking about?” Derek said softly, looking at the by with an expression of confusion that looked as if he had just told the beta something completely absurd. “Of course I did.”

Stiles felt a soft smile lift his cheeks and a hint of colour return to his face as he muttered, “Thank you.”

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

When they pulled up before the apartment, Stiles climbed out of the car and patiently waited for Derek to join him. The beta locked the car behind himself and pulled the boy into his arm. He let out a sigh of relief as the boy contently fell into Derek’s arms, no longer scared of the man as he led Stiles upstairs to their apartment.

When they pushed the door open, they were met with the pitiful sight of Peter – head bowed – as Lydia glared at him.

Derek instinctively let out a low growl as Stiles sank back into his arm slightly.

Lydia’s bright green eyes flicked from the boys to her master as she growled, “Say it.”

Peter remained silent.

Lydia looked like she could snap his neck. She picked up the thick book that sat on the nearby table and smacked Peter with it.

“Say it, Peter!”

The man winced as he hissed through his gritted teeth, “Sorry.”

She hit him with the book again.

The beta growled, eyes lighting up a brilliant cyan as glared at her. She met his burning gaze with an equally fierce one. She didn’t cave beneath the man’s power, nor stand down from her stance.

“Say it like you mean it,” she ordered.

“Lydia,” Stiles interrupted, leaving the safety of Derek’s arms to stop the girl from pummelling the man again. He steadied her hand and spoke reassuringly, “It’s okay.”

He turned and looked at Peter, noticing how Derek quickly made his way over to their sides and readied himself to jump into the situation should anything happen.

“I understand why you did what you did,” Stiles said softly, looking Peter in the eye. “If the rumours are true, then you have every right to resent humans because you want to keep Derek safe, and I get it: he’s your nephew, your family, and you want to make sure he’s never hurt again. But I won’t hurt him. I will never hurt, Derek. I can promise you that.”

Peter’s composure weakened as he whispered, genuinely, “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Stiles replied, waiting a moment before turning back to Lydia and holding up the book she had used to whack Peter. “I know you’re trying to take care of me, but beating a beta to near death with _The Collection of Shakespeare’s Greatest Plays_ isn’t the way to do so.”

Lydia looked like she was about to cry. She wound her arms around Stiles, pulling him close and holding him tight as she sobbed quietly into his shoulder.

Stiles held her close, gently patting down the soft strands of her strawberry blonde hair that cascaded down her back. Finally she settled, bowing her head to wipe away her tears as if she were scared that they would see. He pressed a tender kiss to the crown of her head, making her look up.

“It’s okay,” he whispered assumingly. “I’ll be alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Lydia muttered.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Stiles shushed her. He pulled her into another hug, letting her settle and regain her composure.

“We should go, Lydia,” Peter said quietly. “My sister might just kill me if we’re gone too long.”

“You’re on house arrest?” Derek asked.

“Yes,” Peter said, defeated and pathetic.

Derek almost smiled.

Lydia passed the younger beta the thick book and whispered a quick goodbye before quickly kissing Stiles’ cheek and marching out of the door. Peter followed, silent. He paused in the doorway and turned to the boys.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said one last time before leaving the boys alone in the peace and quiet of their apartment.

Derek took a step closer and hugged Stiles.

Yes, he wanted to get all exterior scents off of the boy and replace them with his own musk, but he also just wanted to hold the boy. There was something about the way that Stiles relaxed in his arms that filled Derek with relief and warmed his heart.

Reluctantly, Derek pulled away and whispered, “I’ll get us lunch, okay?”

“Would you like some help?” Stiles offered.

Derek smiled. “I don’t need any, but I would love some company and conversation.”

Stiles followed him into the kitchen and sat down at the small table in the corner. He watched as Derek moved gracefully about the kitchen, gathering everything and preparing their meal.

“Can I ask you something?” Stiles piped up.

“Sure,” Derek encouraged, stopping what he was doing to turn and look at the boy.

“Why did you choose me?” Stiles asked. “I mean, I definitely didn’t make the best first impression.”

Derek thought about it.

“I guess you could call it instinct,” he replied.

“What do you mean?”

“I think… I think you might be my… my soulmate,” Derek muttered. “Choosing you was kind of like love at first sight. It’s not like I fell head over heels for you instantly, but there’s something about you that I was drawn to. A spark.”

Stiles leapt from his seat and into the man’s arms, bringing their lips together.

He pulled back, eye wide with shock. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”

Derek was silent. He swallowed hard and whispered, “Would you do it again?”

Stiles nodded, licking at his lips.

Derek gently cupped Stiles’ cheeks and tilted his head, bringing their lips together again and kissing the boy properly. He felt Stiles settle into his arms but the boy flinched, broke away from the kiss and quickly stepped back.

“This is moving a little too quick,” Stiles whispered, a little panicked and disorientated. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Derek assured him. “We’ll slow down.”

Stiles looked up at him, his dark eyes swirling with fear.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, his heart sinking into his stomach.

“I’m not a sex slave, am I?” Stiles rasped.

“No,” Derek yelped. “God, no. I mean, it’s not that you’re good looking, but I respect you more than that. I would never do that to you.”

Stiles let out a heavy sigh of relief, grateful for the man’s words.

Derek waited a moment before offering, “Why don’t you go pick out a movie and we’ll have popcorn, chips, and chocolate?”

Stiles seemed to relax. “That sounds good.”

Derek turned and put away most of what he had already gotten out, gathering the microwave popcorn, packets of chips, bars of chocolate, and bottles of sods.

He heard Stiles shuffle about the lounge room, searching the cupboard for a DVD to watch.

“Do you have _Star Wars_?” the boy called from the other room.

“No,” Derek replied. “But I’ve been meaning to get it.”

“What is it with werewolves and not having _Star Wars_?” he heard Stiles mutter.

Derek walked into the living room, juggling the bowls and bottles. He set them down on the table and watched as Stiles slid the disc into the DVD player and grabbed the remote.

Derek laid across the couch.

Stiles stood by him.

Derek patted at the cushion next to him, beckoning for Stiles to lie with him.

Stiles shuffled onto the couch and laid down next to Derek, pressing his back into the man’s warmth the way they had laid last night.

Derek nestled his face into the curve of the boy’s shoulder, setting his hand over the boy’s bandaged chest and subtly drawing the pain out of the Stiles’ frail body.

The man couldn’t help but laugh as the theme song for _The Incredibles_ began to play.

“Really?” Derek asked.

“Shush, it’s a great movie,” Stiles replied, reaching for the popcorn.

Derek snuggled further into his warmth, holding the boy close – just to make sure he didn’t fall face-first off the couch.

Stiles offered him the bag of chips and as Derek took a handful he thanked the boy he realised that there was a strange familiarity about the scene they were playing out, as if it felt right.

_We’ll take it slow_ , he thought to himself. _That way I can learn to fall in love all over again. Properly this time._

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

“Love is giving someone the power to destroy you, and trusting them not to.” – Unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


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